


Hypnagogia

by Lunaarz



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: F/M, M/M, Other, POV Second Person, Zenos yae Galvus Has Feelings, ambiguous gender WoL
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-28
Updated: 2020-11-28
Packaged: 2021-03-10 00:01:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,156
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27755029
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lunaarz/pseuds/Lunaarz
Summary: Hypnagogia: the transitional state from wakefulness to sleep.You (WoL) and Zenos dance around each other as friends, sexual tension wafting in the air.
Relationships: Zenos yae Galvus/Reader, Zenos yae Galvus/Warrior of Light
Comments: 3
Kudos: 38





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I had a wonderful dream a couple of weeks ago involving Zenos. Honestly, one of the best dreams I've had in years. The second I woke up, I wrote down as much as I could remember and filled in the gaps with enough plot to make sense. The work is split over two chapters. Chapter 1 is 90% dream, 10% embellishment. Chapter 2 is 100% embellishment because I wanted to create an end to this story.

The howling wind is dampened by the thick triple paned glass and sturdy Garlean construction. The floors and their blessed radiant heating wrap around you like a blanket. You are bored by the scratching of his pen, the way he sits in is chair without nary a glace your direction. You came over to entertain and be entertained, not to watch him work with a constant feeling of wanting to itch right of your skin.

The agitation subsides – painfully slowly as the minutes tick by – overcome by warmth, white noise, and drowsiness. Faculties lowered, you come to hover behind him. How far would you have to go before he finally deigned to scold you for your disruption.

“Do you like Garlemald?” you note the way his pen doesn’t slow down as you break the silence.

“Not particularly. Nor do I hate it.”

“Are you used to all the snow? The cold?” You look out the window, the way the harsh yellow lights blur like a painting, buffeted by the onslaught of what was apparently an average weather event.

He continues with his missive, “We are better suited to withstand it than other races,” he indulges her again with a reply, “I haven’t thought much about it.”

You pout, bored of his answers. You try to think of something better to ask.

You look at the scar, a tendril of taught flesh peeking out of the collar of his shirt. Brushing your finger over it, “how did you come to be injured here?” You allow your hand to linger on his shoulder.

“A… training accident as a boy. My sword master at the time sought to kill me.”

“That doesn’t sound like an accident,” you respond coolly.

“The official story was thus.”

Further loosing your grip on reality, you find that hand on his shoulder snaking forward, the other mirrored on the other side. You, without thinking, slide your arms over and sink them down and around his neck. He does not tense up, but you do feel the weight of a brief sideways glance thrown your direction.

“Perfect,” you mutter, resting your chin atop his head. Eyes slowly fluttering closed, you quietly protest the movement of his head with a soft mumble.

Freshly showered and dried hair, he smells faintly of peppermint, with just the barest hint of the unexplainable musk you could recognize Zenos by scent alone.

“Such a nice height. Do you know how perfect your height is like this?”

“And it is not so when I stand?”

“You are not standing.”

He sighs. It is pointless to hold conversation with a person so far gone. He was almost done with his work – a task put off by your arrival, a task he knew he ought finish now – the alternative would waste more of your time together if he indulged you tonight.

You mention again, “When you’re sitting down, your height is perfect.”

He begins to rock back and forwards in the chair – ergonomics – the Garleans were obsessed with that lately. Leaning forward, you feel your toes begin to rise off of the ground, backwards, you settled back down. Rhythmically he does this. You feel yourself drifting off, floating away further.

He feels the way your arms loosen around him and stills – you are asleep. He sighs, picks you up in a single armed movement and carries you to bed – his bed – decidedly not your own. You wake up with a start when he lays you down, “I have to go to the bathroom,” you exclaim unceremoniously. He looks caught standing there waiting for something to happen.

When you return he is shirtless and sitting on the opposite edge of the bed.

“I fell asleep on you,” what might have been a laugh fell flat due to the stifling midnight around the both of you. “It’s a sign I should go,” gesturing to the door.

“In the snowstorm?” he asks amusedly, “I assumed, when you invited yourself over this evening you expected to stay the night.”

You blush, “Goodness no. Why would I force that on you? You know I never check the weather.”

“I do,” he nodded endearingly.

“Since we’ve ascertained that I am stuck here, might you show me to a guest room? I won’t impose on you further.”

“In this palace? I do not keep guest rooms,” he half sneered, “it gives people a reason to linger. You may stay here and leave in the morning.”

“That’s improper.”

“Then sleep on the floor.” He turned to get into bed.

You huffed with annoyance, grabbing the nearest pillow – nearly the same height as you – and put it on the tile floor. You cringe and scan the room for blankets.

“You know,” he started, “You would be the first not to try anything in these rooms of mine.”

“Try anything?” you shake your head disapprovingly, “I’m your friend, not a harpy. If what you are alluding to is a common occurrence, then I truly feel bad for you. You deserve better.” You walk to a wall of cabinets and find them disappointingly bereft of soft items. “Are there-” you turn to ask, but the question dies on your lips when you see his amused expression giving away the answer.

Defeated, you walk right up to and look down at your lone pillow, before stretching out on the cold floor.

“I didn’t think you would actually insist on sleeping on the floor.” You hear the rustling of sheets as he shimmies over to the other side of the bed and ribbons of gold begin to cascade down the side when he comes into view.

“Never thought you’d meet someone more stubborn than you, hm?”

“Curious indeed.” He reaches down, long arms have no trouble finding the floor, and grabs you, one large hand wrapped around your thigh, the other around an arm and he, like a crane, hauls you up into the bed and you collide into his chest.

“Zenos! What the hell!” You thrash in his arms, only giving him reason to clamp down in his embrace further.

“I will not suffer your whining in the morning. Sleep here, stop being ridiculous.”

“I’ve never suffered a man who was so adamant to drag me into bed,” you quip with a frown.

He sighed, “We’ve established that neither of us intend to fornicate. Now go. to. sleep.” He growled, releasing you and rolling back over to his side.


	2. Chapter 2

You wake up in the morning in a tangle of limbs. You are most surprised to find Zenos, still asleep, had somehow managed to cling to you like a body pillow in the night, practically caging you underneath him.

You’re warm, surrounded in his scent – your heart betrays you. How could you not be affected by his uncharacteristic gentleness? You’ve always been his friend, a camaraderie born of countless battles spurring further bantering and a comfortable, peaceable existence between the two of you. Your friendship is not old by any means, and you find yourself just now slipping into that phase of comfortable silence, where you finally started to see pieces of Zenos that the world will never see. And, he is – well he can be – gentle.

You are friends. Nothing more. You will not betray that. He deserves better than just another harpy seeking to use him for his position or his body.

He stirs and his two aquamarine eyes groggily flutter open to look at you stare at him in a moment of panicked surprise.

He smiles. “Good morning.”

Your heart can't take it. You shove him away – or at least try to wriggle free of his grasp. It’s all symbolic in nature, of course, for if he does not wish it so, no amount of force would suffice.

He doesn’t permit your escape.

“You are unusually chipper,” you try to look anywhere but his intensely focused eyes.

“I slept very well,” he practically purred appreciatively, “a blissfully dreamless sleep. I cannot think of the last time it was so.”

“Dreamless… you mean to tell me you suffer nightmares?”

“Just one, every night for as long as I can remember. Fire falling from the sky, ground crumbling at my feet. Apocalypse.”

“Zenos…” you.. what can be said to information like that, “Every night? Truly?”

“I do not sleep much. I have had my whole life to become accustomed to it.”

You frown, “that may be so, but that fact makes it fare no better in my heart.”

“Spare me your kindness,” he says softly, “I am the last person you should be wasting it on.”

You try to sit up and find you are able to do that. “Because no one else cares? That would make you the person deserving most of my kindness, my friend.”

There is a knock on the door. Before you process what is happening –

“Enter.” Zenos says.

A man steps into the room, his salute falters mid-way through, no doubt noticing, you, the third party in the room trying and failing to hide behind the mountain of a man you were quite literally tangled up in bed with.

“Your highness, “You were uncharacteristically late to breakfast so…” he started, eyes drifting to the mound of sheets beside him, “should I have two meals brought to your chambers instead?”

“Very well,” he hummed lazily, “No hazelnut spread this time.”

A few more words were exchanged before the man left. You waited for the click of the door before groaning in dramatic agony, “Why did you do that!” you are a mix of shock and embarrassment, “He – he,” you stammered out, “everyone is going to think we are sleeping together now!”

“I give you breakfast in bed and I even remember your peculiar weakness to nuts, and this is the thanks I get?” he deflects your accusations. “Not to mention,” he drawls out, “If they think we are sleeping together, then that’s quite a boon for you. Is it not? I do not see why you are complaining. Anyone else would be thrilled to have gained such power.”

“Well I’m not anyone else! I don’t need your power.” You fire back. “I’m just very embarrassed.”

“That’s why I like you,” he declares softly, trying to soothe the raging tempest pulsing through your body, “you want nothing of me but my company. It’s,” he looks up at the ivory canopy above, “It’s nice not to suffer in another’s presence, boredom or irritation or otherwise.”

You think you know what this is – this petty thing he has done. “I am happy you value my company, but you can’t…” you huff, having no idea how to tell him he is trying to stake a claim over something he cannot possess. “There is no need to spread unnecessary rumors because you are scared of me being stolen away from you. And-” you add quickly, “I really don’t want to be your meat shield against other suitors either.”

He brings his hand up to the smooth column of your neck. “Is that what you think?”

Wilting under his gaze, your self-control wears thin. If he pushed you… if he pushed, you might snap.

“What should I think then?” you breathe.

“Well I suppose you’re right on one account,” he thinks, “I would be happy to use you as a ‘meat shield,’ but I am willing to pay for that privilege.” He scoops up a curled lock of your hair and twirls it between his fingers. “If you are interested…” his tone is suggestive.

“I thought we established…” your mouth goes dry, “that we were not interested in that kind of thing. It would make our friendship messy. We should not.”

He leans in closer, “That was yesterday; this is today.” He sing-songs. “...and that’s not a no. Is it? I find that I want you more knowing fully that you are so resistant – to want what I can’t have.”

“Dammit Zenos.” You curse him inching into your territory, tearing you down with the same ferocity with which he does battle. Weakly, you push back against his advance. You do not really mean it, half-hoping he will stop, half-hoping he will not.

How could I want someone weaker?” his warm breath tickles your ear. “How could I indulge those that want to use me? I am not to be used by anyone. We are the same in many ways, you and I,” his lips move center and hover dangerously close to your own, “It would be a trivial thing to lend each other comfort – much less troublesome than… a harpy,” he quotes you from before. “You speak of what I deserve? How could anyone be more worthy than you?”

His warm breath tickles against you. You cannot. You absolutely should not. He would only leave you wanting, and wanting, and wanting. Because you want more, more than he offers. You do. You hate it, but you know it to be true.

And yet…

Your lips draw closer.


End file.
